The Knight of the Laughing Tree
by Arren Matthew810
Summary: A story about the Knight of the Laughing Tree


"You wept like a child, Lyanna," Benjen teased. His eyes crinkled with mirth, joyously pointing out how his sister had cried after listening to Prince Rhaegar's song. A sniffing Lyanna, with eyes rimmed red, was having none of this teasing. The she-wolf sent a glare towards him, and proceeded to grab a full goblet of wine, pouring its contents over her little brother's insolent little head.

"Shut that mouth, or I should like to pour even more wine over your head," Lyanna threatened him. Despite the coldness of her steely glare, and the wine staining his clothes, Benjen would still chuckle under his breath. This only served to infuriate Lyanna even more, and with narrowed eyes, she made to grab another goblet from the table. But before she could, Ned stopped her, snatching the goblet from the table, and only meeting Lyanna's eyes.

"This is mine," he says. And Lyanna watches as he drinks from it. She could only grit her teeth, and send another glare towards Benjen, whose hair was still dripping with wine. She sat there at the table, stewing quietly, refusing to speak to any of her brothers, especially Benjen. That little brat.

The great castle of Harrenhal was enormous, said to cover three times as much ground as Winterfell, with stables that could house a thousand horses and a godswood that covers twenty acres. Lyanna could scarcely doubt this, for in the short while she had rode around its courtyard, she knew it was larger than her home. The great hall of the castle was populated by merriment, of food, wine and laughter. Here and there, are whispers - flirtation and gossip...words and words and words. Lyanna could not care much for them all.

Looking around, her eyes landed on the dark-haired young lord of Storm's End, her betrothed, Robert of the House Baratheon. As if he could feel her stare, Robert's eyes met hers, and she quickly shifted her gaze, not eager to interact more with him at the moment. "I am tired, I wish to have some rest," which she did not, and yet she still announced this to anyone who cared to listen. Truthfully, she only wished to escape an approaching Robert. "I bid you good night, my Lord," she told him as he approached, her tone polite, albeit aloof.

The she-wolf runs from the stag, and does not look back.

On the morrow, come first light, the sound of clinking metal and chatter fills the air as the participants of the tourney anticipate its beginning. Last night's feast has lasted well into the night, many lords getting drunk off of wine and dance. But that morning their squires and knights are awake, preparing for the battles that are soon to come. Excitement fills every inch of the air, not only for the jousting displays, but for the copious amounts of gold that Lord Whent has promised for the victor. It was three times that of the prize for the tourney hosted by Lord Tywin Lannister, for King Aerys II's tenth year upon the Iron Throne. Whispers abound; conspiracies, for how could Lord Walter Whent have afforded such munificent prizes? But that did not concern Lyanna.

Last night, at the feast, she had cried after listening to his song. The dragon prince had the most beautiful voice she has ever heard, and his slender fingers had plucked at the strings of the harp with such skill...it was a small wonder why he was revered as a wonderful musician. Until now she could only think of his song. Its sadness has moved her to tears, and even more so, had the melancholy that Rhaegar's lilac eyes had revealed. Lyanna pictured him, his silver hair and his lilac eyes, playing the song over and over again. Lyanna wished for another chance to hear it.

Soon, she would need to dress for the tourney. She would sit among her brothers, and watch as battle after battle is fought. It greatly fascinated her. And she would see Rhaegar again…

Lady Lyanna would sit amongst her brothers and watch. Too consumed in her thoughts of the song, and almost crying again, her consciousness was jerked awake by the thought of the porcupine knight, the knight of the pitchfork and the knight of the two towers. She grit her teeth, still indignant at the violence Howland had suffered. The three knights had each won a place among the champions in jousting. Lyanna let out a scoff, never bothering to hide her frowning face. The day wore on, and by the end of it, she would have hatched her perfect plan.

"This smile, a smile is what it needs," she whispered to herself, as she painted the shield, a white weirwood tree, with a face. Beside her lay the armor she had pieced together, from whatever she could find. It ought to be enough, she thought.

The next day of the tourney, a mysterious knight appears, clad in misshapen armor and donning a plain shield painted with a laughing tree. The knight became the talk of participants, and spectators alike. Despite the heavy armor, Lyanna could still ride her horse splendidly. She and Brandon had been called centaurs, for they both rode so well their mounts seemed to be a part of their bodies.

Lyanna grunted quietly inside her armor, breathing heavily. She had just defeated the third knight. And she has had enough. As loud as she could, and taking care to change her voice, making it sound deeper. The she-wolf, hiding behind the laughing face of the white weirwood tree, made her way to the assailants of the crannogman. "Admonish your squires and never oppress the crannogman ever again," she exclaimed in anger and power ordering the squires of a pitchfork knight, porcupine knight, and a knight of two towers. The great sun disappeared into the dark, marking the end of the first day of the grandest tourney the Seven Kingdoms have and will ever see.

The king, in his rage and indignation, convinced himself that the mystery knight was his enemy. Through his mad imagination, he assumed that the smirk on the white weirwood tree was nothing but a tool to insult him. He then ferociously instructed all of his knights to defeat the masked knight hidden under the identity of a laughing tree.

The she-wolf retreated to the Godswood of the largest castle in all of Westeros. She plans to hide her armor in the godly forest, a fortress for those who worship the old gods. Just after she removed her helmet, the prince with the silver hair passed. Rhaegar saw the identity hiding behind the laughing face of the tree. He was not surprised to find out the identity concealed behind the northern symbol.

"I knew it," the dragon prince spoke softly. "From the moment you defeated those wicked knights, I knew it was you," he said while Lyanna removes all of his ironclad armor. "My father was so furious about you, but I will not put your life in risk," he continues. "I fought for justice and received it. I will not take part in the next rounds, " she replied to the silver-haired prince. "Good," he replied with a smirk like that of the laughing tree. They continued to talk with each other among the old weirwood heart trees with twisted mouths. Only the old gods, seeing through the glaring eyes engraved unto the trees of the forest, can reveal the level of the intimacy of the messages between them.

The two agreed to keep the identity of the knight of the laughing tree to themselves. It was a like a secret that created a special bond between them. A memory that can only be accessed by two minds. A moment in time that would be left untouched but not forgotten.

The joust resumed after a night of break, but the knight of the laughing tree was nowhere to be found. The mystery knight was like a thief that disappeared like the light eaten by the dusk, getting away with much glory from victories without finishing the cup. The masked knight was swift as a deer and quiet as a shadow. No one ever saw the mirth of the white weirwood tree in the joust again.

Lyanna, the mystery knight, joined her brothers in the crowd to watch the remaining rounds of the joust. She appeared as a lady, leaving no tracks of what she has worn yesterday.

The dragon prince emerged victorious at the end of the contest. Rhaegar defeated every adversary, including one of the best swordsmen in whole of the Seven Kingdoms, Barristan Selmy. The crowd cheered as their prince took his helmet off revealing his astonishing silver hair, a mark of a true dragon. The crowd's cheers were too deafening until the prince rode past his wife and crowned Lyanna Stark with blue winter roses as the queen of love and beauty, dedicating his win to the lady betrothed to the stag lord.


End file.
